


Moanin'

by Captain_Panda



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And A Dash of the Ol' Razzle Dazzle, Because It Is . . . Literally . . . Just . . . Fluff, Fluff, Fluff 'n' Stuff, I'm Not Even Gonna Tag This Properly, It's 1000 Words How Talented Do You Think I Am, M/M, Mostly Fluff, That's It That's All The Ol' Bear Wrote This Time, it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 06:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30051255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Panda/pseuds/Captain_Panda
Summary: Wet. Steamy.Sultry.Jazz.It's jazz.  In a bathtub.AKA: Tony drinks a little too much before a big party, and Steve has to convince him that going in the nude is not acceptable, no matter what "the emperor" said. Oh, and they're married.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 65





	Moanin'

**Author's Note:**

> Ever look at somebody and think "What is going on inside their head?"
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Your exhausted but friendly host,  
> Captain_Panda
> 
> P.S. See end notes.

“I don’t want to entertain. I want to _live_. I want to _bask_ in myself.”

From the en suite door, Steve said, “I thought you hated baths, Tony.”

“Ah-uh-uh.” Tony pointed at him imperiously from the tub, where he was submerged. “I hate being _forced_ to bathe. A common misconception, sweetheart, an easy mistake to make.”

Steve sighed. “And just how much cough syrup did you drink?”

“Darling, wouldn’t you like to _know_ ,” Tony purred, propping one foot on the bath wall. “Fetch me my _jazz_.”

“You don’t even like jazz, Tony.”

“Fetch me my _jazz_.”

“I don’t even know where you keep the record player.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony simpered, folding his arms behind his head. “Fetch me my _jazz_.”

The A.I. entreated, “I must agree with Captain Rogers on this front. You don’t—”

“Were you _eavesdropping,_ J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony purred. “Listening _in_? You naughty dog.”

“I am programmed to passively listen to the sound of your voice, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. reminded plaintively.

“Do you like _jazz_ , J.A.R.V.I.S.?” Tony pressed.

“I . . . I don’t know,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said.

“It’s not _bad_ ,” Steve offered.

“It’s not _good_ ,” Tony chimed in. “It just _is_.”

Sensing how limited his conversational usefulness was, J.A.R.V.I.S. said simply, “As you were, sir.”

[Presumably jazz music](https://youtu.be/-488UORrfJ0) issued from the same speaker system the A.I. was temporarily housed in. A fluttering piano accompanied a whispery cymbal, the familiar strum of a guitar. Steve thought it sounded very jazzy, but Tony grimaced and said, “No, J.A.R.V.I.S., give me _jazz_.”

The [ auditory cacophony ](https://youtu.be/J0FcKOfRgvE)that ensued had Tony bawling, “NO! I said JAZZ!”

J.A.R.V.I.S. said with some pain, “All right, sir.”

There was a prolonged pause. Presumably, J.A.R.V.I.S. was scanning his own database, searching for the Holy Grail of logged entries, an incontrovertibly correct answer.

At last: an upbeat piano, a sax, and a trumpet joined forces to elicit a, “[ _Yes_ , baby.](https://youtu.be/Cv9NSR-2DwM)”

Eyes closed, Tony swayed his head to the rhythm, one hand aloft for reasons unknown.

Steve searched his heart to see how likely it was that Tony would kill himself accidentally unsupervised, drained a third of the tub to be safe, and added, “Don’t move.”

Tony nodded, arms perched on either side of the tub, eyes still shut in wordless enjoyment.

Steve made his way to the hotel lobby. “He’s not available,” he explained to a very unimpressed Ms. Potts.

“Exactly how nude is he?”

“Very,” Steve said, grateful they were on the same page. Quite literally—Ms. Potts and he were both dressed to impress, unlike Tony. It was going on nine p.m. Dinner had started officially at seven. Steve’s left eye might be twitching, but it was probably hunger. Really, after . . . three years? Of marriage, he was used to the whole run-around. Tony couldn’t surprise him.

Still: Tony _had_ to make an appearance, at least once, at his own celebratory dinner party.

Ms. Potts clearly shared Steve’s thoughts, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s _his_ award,” she muttered, like she could not believe, after all these years, that Tony Stark was still Tony Stark.

“That’s just Tony Stark for ya,” Steve offered, fighting a pleased, _And Tony Stark-Rogers, to you_.

“Just get him here,” Ms. Potts entreated. “Thank you,” she added, turning on her heel and returning to the party.

Get him there. Easy as pie—except as soon as Steve returned to the presidential suite—of course Tony Stark wouldn’t settle for less than the best-of-the-best—he found Tony face-down on the bed, snoring loudly. He had gotten dressed, but he was _out_. “Oh, Tony, no,” Steve said, stepping into the room. “Tony, we have the party, remember? Your party.”

Tony snored in response.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed, weighing his options. There was still some kind of _jazz_ playin’ in the bathroom, so he got up and took care’a that. Then he sat on the bed again, tapping one foot against the floor, willing himself to have a lightbulb idea.

Puttin’ it off would certainly put their guests off. Lots of nice people had come from far and wide to be there, to shake hands with a guy many actually regarded with real fondness. It would be a shame to tell them that their delighted host could not make an appearance until _morning_ , at which point even the most dedicated drinker would have retired.

Yet Tony was so _peaceful_ , so _happy_ , and it _was_ his celebration. Didn’t he get to make the rules on this one occasion? Steve actually scratched the back of his neck like it would help, ignoring a long-ago admonition not to shake the dust loose, to take a bath if he was so itchy.

At least Tony had managed to get out of the tub, get dressed, and pass out on the bed. His intent had been there, even if his execution was off.

Resolved, Steve thought, _Be mad at me if you gotta_. “Tony, c’mon,” he entreated, giving Tony’s shoulder a shake. “We gotta _go_.”

With a prolonged groan, Tony allowed Steve to sit him upright. “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to,” Tony said, as Steve looped a tie around his neck.

“Just five minutes, Tony,” Steve bargained.

Tony reached up to loosen the tie—Steve sighed—and grumbled back, “Five minutes, my _ass_.”

Steve managed to get him looking presentable, although he nearly tossed Tony over a shoulder to prevent him from tangling his shoelaces _again_. Tony allowed himself to be led to the elevator. “I hate people,” Tony declared.

“I know you do.”

Yet as soon as the elevator doors opened, Tony was nothing but a _delight_. He mingled. He charmed. He knew how to tango, Steve thought, happy to take his place in the background.

If Tony said, “It has got to yearn of _jazz_ ,” when Mr. Musk asked what he saw cars like in the future, Mr. Musk knew to _smile_.

Oh, he was a wild, strange one, that Tony Stark. But he was beautiful, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hey, you, again. Just me, Cap'n Panda, over here.
> 
> I hope you have a chill day or night. I think it's pretty swell you clicked on this fic. In fact, I'd like to thank you, personally, for taking the time to read this. It's silly, I know. I'll probably forget about it soon, but I thought it might be fun to share one of the countless little plot bunnies that just kinda pops into existence before hopping out of sight for good. Believe me: I know it's silly. Frankly, I don't even know why I decided to catch this particular rabbit and bring it home. But here it is. This dumb, sweet little bunny. Oh, and it's 1,000 words, even, which I thought was a cool milestone, since I just crossed the 150,000 word mark for 2021.
> 
> Gee, whiz. Where does the time go, huh? This'll be my sixth year on the Archive. Yeah, sixth. It's been fun, over the years--I've been writing fanfiction for almost fourteen years now, which seems odd to say. I'm grateful for this little homestead I've made here. It's kept me going. I know many of you have felt the same, reading stories, writing stories, making art of any kind.
> 
> You keep being you, having fun, doing whatever you're doing, all right? This is you, your work. It's not about the size of your rabbit, or the amount of rabbits in your hutch: it's about your pride in your rabbits and how much you love keeping them. As long as you are having fun, keep doing it. Somebody out there is silently cheering you on, every step of the way. Somebody out there can't wait to get an email that you've made something.
> 
> If you're looking for longfic, don't worry, there'll be more of it. And if you're looking for OMA--believe you me, it's on my mind every day, and I have not lost a shred of interest in it. It's been a rough year. To go into detail would eat up more time than I would like to allot here, so I'll just say, it's good to be here, and it's good to be able to write.
> 
> Thank you for your time. Now, go on, carry on your way. Drop a kudos if you feel like it, but please don't trouble yourself. The fact that you are trying to find some joy in these Trying Times is wonderful, and I want to thank you for stopping by.
> 
> Affectionately and forever yours,  
> Captain_Pandamore


End file.
